She looked away again, and he knew that she had told him all she wished to tell. At least for the moment. He sighed. “I am sorry. I am sorry that your son is dead, and that I must ask you such painful questions. But I am most sorry that you will not trust me with the truth.” He went to the door and slid it open. “Perhaps we should return to the others.”
“How dare you?” Koji said, from the corridor. Shin turned, surprised. Koji advanced, face tight with anger. “You will not question my mother, as if she is some – some hinin fishwife! We are an old family – an honored family! And your behavior here towards us is – is intolerable.”
Shin stepped back, his face a mask of indifference. “My behavior is not the issue. The death of your brother is. One would think that you would want me to find out if it was the result of misadventure – or something else.” Now he fixed Koji with an icy look – the Crane, feathers ruffled and beak sharp. “Then, perhaps you are glad to see him dead, my lord. By all accounts he was an embarrassment to your family.”
He heard Nishi gasp behind him, and Koji spluttered in shock. Shin leaned forward, forcing the other man back into the corridor. Koji retreated. Shin saw that his wife stood behind him – and Batu as well, frowning thunderously.
Koji stared at Shin, face like snow. Himari clutched his arm and whispered urgently into his ear. He pushed her aside – not ungently – and said, “I see the Crane’s reputation is well deserved. But I will not be threatened.”
“Nor do I intend to do so.” Shin folded his hands before him. “That is not a threat. None of this is a threat. I was sent to ask questions. I will ask those questions.”
“You were sent to embarrass the Shiko,” Koji said, stubbornly.
“And who told you that?”
“No one had to tell me that,” Koji said. “It was obvious from the outset. Why else would Batu refuse to follow all protocol and simply… deal with that ronin as she deserves?”
Shin shrugged. “The answer to your question, my lord, is simple – extenuating circumstances.”
Koji shook his head. “What?”
“Katai Ruri has not been executed for the simple reason that to do so might mean compounding the crime, rather than punishing it.” Shin let his eyes bore into Koji. “To kill her for doing her duty is the height of foolishness – how much worse, then, to do so when the fault lies elsewhere?”
“She killed a samurai,” Koji said.
“She is a samurai.”
“So? Someone must pay for my brother’s death. If not her, then who?”
“The correct someone – not the most convenient.”
Koji’s face flushed. “And what gives you the right…?”
“Because the Iuchi commanded it,” Nishi said, suddenly, from behind Shin. Koji looked at his mother in shock, and she met his gaze, unflinching. “And we obey the great families in all things. Whether we agree or not.” Shin glanced at her, grateful she’d chosen to speak up. She turned to him, and he felt a pang as he saw the tears at the corners of her eyes. “Even if you find the answers you seek, it does not bring Gen back to me.”
“No, but it might enable his spirit to rest somewhat easier.”
Nishi smiled sadly. “Maybe. For what it’s worth, I do not wish for the ronin to die. But someone must pay for Gen’s death, else his cousins – my kin – will seek restitution in their own way.”
“These cousins – they were the ones who witnessed Gen’s death?”
“Yes. Ikki and the others were there, but were too slow to intervene. Or so they claim.” She frowned as she said it, and Shin nodded in understanding.
Agitators on both sides would see this not as a tragedy, but an opportunity to improve their standing within the clan at the expense of a rival. Alive, Gen might have been a buffoon, but dead, he was a martyr. Perhaps that was the reason for it all – a grim thought, but one that had to at least be considered. “They will spill blood in his name, if that is what it takes,” she said. “Whatever my wishes.”
“Then it is a good thing that I am here to prevent that,” he said, after a moment.
“But for how long?” she said, softly. “How long can you drag this charade out? The yojimbo killed my son – that is a fact. The why of it does not matter, only the deed itself.”
“That is where you are wrong, my lady,” Shin said. “In my experience, the why matters very much indeed.” He looked at Koji. “I intend to see this matter resolved in a timely fashion, and to the satisfaction of all parties. Including myself. The more help you provide, the sooner it will be done.”
Needless to say, that ended the meal. Shin watched with some small embarrassment as Batu made the usual apologies and the Shiko departed. When the guests had safely gone, and the musician paid and sent on her way, Batu rounded on him. “Aren’t the Crane supposed to be known for subtlety?”
“Are we? I thought we were known for our impeccable taste?”
“No jokes, please. This is bad enough.”
Shin patted his shoulder. “I’m afraid it’s going to get worse. During our conversation, Nishi mentioned that she’d written to the Ide, looking for someone to represent them in this affair. Which is, of course, her right. Though I do question the timing.”
Batu stared at him. “I wish you had not come.”
“So you’ve said.”
“And I will keep saying it. It is a comfort to me.” Batu rubbed his brow. “My head hurts. What now?”
“Were you aware that Lady Nishi did not approve of the marriage?”
Batu frowned. “No. She told you that?”
“Yes. Something about Lady Aimi being unsuitable.”
“Any clue as to what she meant?”
“Not yet. I’m hoping the matchmaker – what was her name? – will shed some light on it.” Shin paused. “She is still coming today, yes?”
Batu glowered at him. “Suio Umeko. And yes, she should be here soon, though she has protested the inconvenience.”
“I will make note to apologize most abjectly.”
“Why are you so concerned with that? What does it matter now?”
“It is part of the framework,” Shin said. “The marriage was a political necessity, but it seems one of the involved parties had concerns. Maybe more than one. Perhaps not all those concerns were aired in a healthy manner.”
“What are you saying?”
“Someone might well have wanted to sabotage the arrangement. And this might not be the first time that they’ve done so, given all the trouble you’ve had.”
Batu stared at him for a moment before looking away. “Turning over such rocks often reveals unpleasantness beneath.” He ran his hand over his scalp. “The Zeshi and Shiko are not the only involved parties, you know.”
“You mean the Iuchi and the Ide…” Shin began.
Batu shook his head. “Them as well, but I mean the merchants’ association. The ones who most profit from the success or failure of the Zeshi and the Shiko. You speak of sabotage, well – we have had plenty of that. Less, of late.”
“Thanks to the marriage. But now…?”
“Now they are waiting. The whole of the city is waiting. Holding its breath.” Batu pointed in the general direction of the outbuilding where Ruri was being held. “If she dies, they will all breathe easier. But while she lives, everything is on hold. Do you understand?”
Shin was silent for a moment. “I understand. My resolution is undaunted.”
Batu looked at him. Then he gave a sad smile. “I did not expect it to be. You were never the sort to admit defeat. I always admired that about you.”
“You… admire me?”
Batu frowned. “Aspects of you. Not the whole.”
“Still, I was afraid we were no longer friends.”
“We were friends?”
“The best of friends,” Shin said, ignoring
Batu’s attempt at humor. “I recall our youthful indiscretions quite fondly. Such as that time we made off with my cousin’s prize mare and sold her on to that Ide merchant, then spent the money on an evening’s entertainments.”
Batu grunted. “I recall that he insulted me.”
“Which is why we stole the horse,” Shin said.
Batu snorted. “That was unworthy of us.”
“Most of what we did was unworthy of us. That was why it was so much fun.”
Batu laughed ruefully. “Maybe so. But we are men now, with responsibilities.” He looked Shin up and down. “Some of us, at least.”
“I have responsibilities,” Shin protested. “I am responsible for the activities of two – no, three – merchants. It is quite taxing.” He paused. “I also own a theater.”
“A… theater?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Shin shrugged. “Why not?”
Batu shook his head, clearly befuddled by this. “I have not been to the theater in years,” he said, finally.
“Then I formally invite you to our first performance. I will set aside a box for you.”
“How kind.” Batu looked at him. “I might even attend.”
They stood in silence for some time after that, listening to the birds. Shin thought of past days, and a stolen mare, and smiled. Finally, he said, “I would be obliged to you if you would speak to this merchants’ association you mentioned, on my behalf.”
“You wish to talk to them as well?”
“It might not prove necessary. But if it does, your authority will go a long way towards opening those particular doors.” Shin smiled. “You are, after all, a well-respected man in the community, and I am just a nosy Crane.”
Chapter Eleven
Iron Sect
Emiko made her way along the rocky path between buildings. Somewhere to her left, she could hear the murmur of running water. Many streams bled down from the heights, and the city had grown in the spaces between them. Hisatu-Kesu was a city of generations; each had added a new layer atop the last.
Beneath the pervasive whisper of the water, she could hear the clatter of cart wheels and the lowing of oxen. The smell of dung and fried food mingled into a fuming pulse that filled the side street. Merchants hawked their wares from storefront stalls, their voices beating at her ears. The midmorning crowd broke around her, the heimin giving her as wide a berth as possible. She ignored their murmurings as she followed the curve of the street.
As she walked, she thought again of what she had heard at the magistrate’s house. They had all but ignored her presence, all save the Crane. She’d felt his attention on her more than once, though that might simply have been her imagination.
The whole affair seemed satisfactorily tedious. Despite the Crane’s presence, there was no obvious danger to those whom she represented. Both sides wanted a quick solution and to move on, and they would no doubt pressure the magistrate into doing his duty, regardless of what the Crane might intend.
Her thoughts circled him – his voice stayed with her, though she could not say why. There was arrogance there, but not the sort she was used to. Perhaps because it was an earned arrogance – the confidence of an experienced warrior. Though she did not think this Crane was much of a warrior. His hands were soft, and he smelled of paper and perfume rather than weapon oil. An interesting man.
A kind one, as well, if she had judged what she’d heard of the confrontation in the hallway correctly. Few bushi were kind. Considerate, yes. Polite. But not truly kind. It was… interesting to consider.
She walked until the rocky ground gave way to rough-cut planks. With her cane, she located the door of the shop and entered. The musty smell of dried herbs enveloped her. She stopped and waited for the proprietor to notice her. She heard a wheezy chuckle, and someone knocked on the countertop.
“Hello, Natsuo,” Emiko said. Natsuo had run his herbalist shop since before either the Zeshi or the Shiko had come to Hisatu-Kesu. She paused, waiting for him to speak the expected words. Though he knew her, and she him, some forms must be observed.
“Their rule is iron,” the old man murmured.
“And we are rust,” she said, softly.
Natsuo grunted. “Such a silly thing, these codewords and phrases. As if I can remember them all. In my day, we made do with gestures, and were glad of them.”
“All well and good, if you have eyes to see them.”
“Bah. I have no doubt you would make do.” She heard him pull back the curtain that separated the front of the shop from the back. “They are downstairs.”
“All of them?”
“All who deign to attend.” Natsuo grunted again. “In my day, when the sect met, every member was sure to make themselves available – else hsst.” She heard a scrape of skin on skin, and imagined him miming a slit throat.
“Things have changed, Natsuo.”
“Not for the better,” he sniffed.
“That depends entirely on your perspective, I think.”
“Mine is the only one that counts,” he said. She laughed and made her way into the back. From previous visits, she knew that the shop’s storeroom was bigger outside than in. She went to the back wall and felt along the coarse planks. When she found the loose one, she pushed it in. It was not easy, and when she did so, she heard the soft click of a counterweight somewhere beneath her feet. There was a creak behind her as the hidden trapdoor fell away.
Cautiously, she made her way over to it, and found the uppermost of the steps that led down beneath the shop. The mountains were full of natural caves and this was one such. The story went that Natsuo had discovered it by accident in his youth and used it as a smuggler’s hole, before he’d joined the sect. Now it served a different purpose.
The steps were narrow things, barely wide enough to accommodate her feet. Thankfully, there were only a dozen of them, and the passage was narrow enough that she could keep one hand on the wall as she descended. When she reached the bottom, she brushed aside the curtain there and entered the chamber beyond.
It was cool down here, and a breeze whipped past as she let the curtain fall back into place. As she entered, all conversation ceased. She paused, letting them see her. Though she could never know their faces, they all knew hers, for better or worse.
The Blind Woman, they called her. Not the most original title, but evocative nonetheless. Appropriate, given that she was one of the hidden blades of the Iron Sect, ready to draw blood on their behalf.
The Iron Sect had been born in the alleys and sake houses of The City Between the Rivers. The city was the crossroads of trade in the lands of the Unicorn, and the largest city in Ikoku Province. Emiko had been born there as well. Her father had been a collector of nightsoil, and her mother the wife of a nightsoil collector.
Hinin – untouchable and unseen by their betters.
Blind since birth, the first smell Emiko could recall was that of the excrement. It was a smell she associated with her father, for it clung to him most stubbornly even after he had cleaned himself. Her family had reluctantly divested themselves of her, having two other children to care for, and no wherewithal to care for a child who could not see.
At a young age, she had been offered up to the local goze house, where blind girls were taught to sing or give massages – the only employment open to those unlucky enough to be born poor. It was better than collecting nightsoil, she supposed. She did not bear her parents any malice. They had not made the choice lightly, and she could recall the sound of their weeping as they departed. They had loved her, but had no choice.
Society had given them no choice. The poor suffered and the rich prospered. Such was the way of it.
She had been a quick learner, and skilled with the shamisen. One of her teachers, an older man, had taught her to gamble – and to kill. He had been blind as well, and h
ad spent his youth learning how to kill on behalf of criminal masters. As he’d often told her, the blind could not see, but neither were they seen. No one expected a blade in a blind man’s hand – or a blind woman’s, for that matter.
As he’d taught her the art of the quick draw, and how to listen and identify opponents by sounds and smells, he had also taught her of the crime that had been committed against the folk of Rokugan so long ago. She could still recall the hoarse rasp of his voice as he spoke of the Kami, not with reverence – but revulsion.
The Kami, he’d taught her, had enslaved humanity, bound them to a celestial wheel and instructed the Hantei to keep that wheel turning, so that none might escape. The Great Clans saw to it that this hateful order was enforced, that all people were broken to the role that the Kami had chosen for them – regardless of any skill or aptitude they might possess. Thus were the unworthy elevated beyond reason, and the worthy consigned to collect nightsoil, all by simple reason of birth.
When she had learned all that he had to teach her, she had been sent to Hisatu-Kesu, there to join with others who shared this belief, and take part in the great work. Her teacher had explained it as akin to a bird, chipping away at a mountain. A mountain was an insurmountable obstacle, but through persistence the bird might cause it to crumble into nothing. The Unicorn was the mountain, and the Iron Sect, the bird.
Little by little, they chipped away at the Unicorn. In Hisatu-Kesu, that meant exacerbating the tensions between the occupying vassal families, so that more amenable individuals might rise in influence – individuals loyal to the Iron Sect.
Emiko had heard that there were other sects like hers, in other lands. That only stood to reason, for she knew that the Hantei would not be crippled by the loss of one clan. Such an undertaking would require a concentrated effort by more than just a few hundred people scattered across the lands of the Unicorn. But she had never been given reason to venture into those distant lands. Nor did she wish to.
She was content here. She had purpose. That was enough.
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